


Born to Endless Night

by IndraMahr



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), Tommy Ratliff (Musician)
Genre: Angst, Closure, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Time, Glam Rock, Glamnation Tour, Love, M/M, Origin Story, Original Fiction, Real Life, Rock and Roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:53:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29166762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndraMahr/pseuds/IndraMahr
Summary: This is for the fandom.Thank you. For everything.
Relationships: Adam Lambert/Tommy Ratliff
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Born to Endless Night

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: This is a work of fiction, of which I am the sole author. I do not know or own the characters whose likeness is here portrayed. This is one of the first works of fiction I share publicly, and I hope you find it worthy of your time! Any comments and feedback are much appreciated. I kindly ask that you do not reproduce any of the content of this work elsewhere.

Some are born to sweet delight,  
Some are born to endless night.  
\- William Blake

He doesn’t quite remember when it all started. He can’t exactly pinpoint what instigated it. 

How and why the blood in him came to stir to such an extent.

Was it a brief touch, a fleeting look? Was their youth to blame? The will - the need - to just let go and live in the moment, no labels, no commitments, no prejudices? The passion for music, the long hours on the road, drinking, partying, talking, matching appointments for the following day; the press and the briefings; the fans and their co-workers; preparations and rehearsals (rehearsed touches, rehearsed looks) - were they all conspiring to align them so?

When did his thoughts of pleasure, of pain, of longing and despair come to include another man’s face, his smell, his laughter, his bright, blue (sometimes green, sometimes grey) eyes? The whole of him permeating his deepest, most intimate and tender thoughts. So unfair. So wrong. So real and painful.

Such lust.

Such want.

\-------

The performance had been a special one – a cautiously prepared and calibrated experiment, not at all the “heat of the moment” act it was sold as after. Iconic, inflated, but expected. Also a one-of-a-kind, never-to-happen-again kind of performance. But special, nonetheless. And it had kept him awake. They laughed it off, right at the backstage, both of them running on adrenaline, and rock, electrified, excited - but he got no sleep that night. Or for several of the following nights. 

He wanted to forget about it, tame whatever feeling was trying to reach the surface of his mind, but deep inside himself he found that he could not. He wanted more. He couldn’t even name it. Just one more of those mind-numbing kisses from that man, to make sure his legs wouldn’t falter him this time, that he had all of this act together - the go-getter-rock-star, the willing-to-tart-it-up musician - that his mind wasn’t playing tricks on him. To make sure this wasn’t just his curiosity and open-mindedness alluring him to push his boundaries just a little bit more.

Then there came the night of another iconic performance. Wishing the old year away, they entertain yet another crowd, doing what they do best, pleasing people and giving them something to remember well after. A few hours into the night, professional obligations taken care of, they finally find themselves tucked away in a secluded and confortable corner of the club they were taken to, indulging finally in some anonymity among the surrounding crowd, just the two of them. 

The music is decadent, the new year promises hard work, but also a new world of adventure for them both, and they talk and laugh, they hug and touch, like the two good friends they believe they can become. A pure friendship is worth so much. He wishes to keep this man in his life forever. When the night has been stretched enough and they have to depart for the time being, he doesn’t know what to blame it on – the drinks, their spirits floating in ecstasy and anticipation, just happiness, the sudden desire he then thinks he sees reflected in the other man’s eyes – but he makes their lips meet. It hits him suddenly and ferociously, right then and there, the need to feel the warmth and taste of that man again. Just a quick encounter of mouths, determined, but not demanding, eyes barely closing, a breath held for the briefest of moments. None of them wavers, and none of them rushes it either.  
And then they part ways. He leaves for his car and his hotel for the night. His heart is racing and his mind is going blank. 

He still feels he can brush it off.

\------- 

Intense months followed, with the first half of the year occupied with promotion of their work; the second started by kicking off a world tour. 

Their stage interaction is soft and playful, at first, so very professional. So much glamour and glitz. Fame smiles at him - recognition, but also accomplishment. He has press and fans enchanted. He had decided to relegate his restlessness from a few months before, some of his messy feelings, to the back of his mind, in the hopes of keeping in tune with his professionalism, with being able to function around the other man. There was no place for distraction, after all, in the path he wanted to follow more than anything. His life ambitions were at stake everyday. 

So they exchange looks, and touches, here and there, and there’s always playful banter on stage between them, their interaction satisfying fans everywhere, keeping people talking about them and their shows. Backstage, there is friendship, a shoulder to lean on, a warm hug and long talks into warm Summer dawns.

But the nights are delighful, the stage is a safe place, there are pains and hurts to heal. The road is also a long, lonely affair, and life is unfurling so fast. And there comes a night when something shifts - some spur of the moment, innocent kisses are exchanged, right there, on the familiar ground of the stage, in front of a crowd, smiles shine bright once again, and the spell is rekindled.

And now, here, tonight, the stage play he initially could downplay so well is the cause for his insomnia. The warmth of the other man’s hands stays with him even after a very long, cold shower, in yet another lonely hotel room. It is the cause of his restlessness. The reason for his unfocused thoughts and acts. He remembers all too well the heat from his body, their bodies, glued to each other, back to chest; the pins and needles in his stomach, the heat welling up at the bottom of his spine. He represses all of it on stage, night after night, city after city, but the feeling stays with him well after, when he brings it up to life again while touching himself under the pressure of the water, hands smoothly running through the inside of his thighs, his hard cock, his chest, his own lips; his mouth slightly parted, head thrown back in abandonment. Remembering. Feeling again. Phantom hands. Other hands, not his own. He wishes for phantom lips also, phantom breath, warm, alive. Wishes for the same mouth that plays with his on stage; but this mouth now comes also with enticing words in the dark, most sincere. 

\-------

Their stage antics only increase, from that moment on, their shows becoming whimsy and eccentric plays of power and dominance. The other man trying for his ground, and gradually succeeding in keeping him absolutely unbalanced. Submissive. He is inviting him, teasing him – and he knows it. It’s hot and sensuous. He is hit in the guts, night after night, with how much he longs for that particular moment of the day - of the night. His body is ready and he can’t help but feel, let himself be devoured and consumed by the want he carries within himself – and the audience might catch on to something, but they would never guess the ferocity of the fight going on in his mind and the fire consuming his thoughts.

Intensity escalates. And there comes a night when it all turns unbearable. Backstage becomes also the safe place he wishes for, and he goes for it with his all. He lets loose what he can’t contain anymore, raw, unfiltered, but so pure. He corners the other man in his own room backstage, and they exchange smiles while he closes and locks the door behind him. There is a question in the other man’s eyes, as he is caught bare chested and still panting from the effort of the performance, but he doesn’t allow him to put it into words. He moves forward, embraces the man’s waist, presses him against the dresser behind him, and catches his soft, lush lips in his. No hesitation from either one of them, now, here, alone, in this unsuspecting place.

He is the one in control now. He had been taunted and played with for the last few months, he was sure of it, but now his mouth devours and his soul sparkles. And he smiles, in between kisses and touches. Just a few hours before, uncertainty had him still consumed, but now he wants to tell the world “to hell with caution”. He had known caution had been there, lurking, mocking him, mocking his willpower, his fears. He acts on his wants and needs, now. The exchange of power is intense, and they explore each other’s mouths and bodies, like it’s the first time getting acquainted with another human body for both of them, far from inquisitive eyes and minds. He is getting as hard as he is giving, his own shirt unbottoned before he could sense it, and his jawline and chest already glistening from the other’s man’s lips and tongue. They pause to catch their breaths, foreheads joined. He can feel the other man is as hard as he is now. His lipstick is smudged and shared between them. He feels debauched, happy, and so very wanton. They both laugh while trying to gather their composure. 

\-------

No spoken word was exchanged between them since leaving the back of the venue towards the tour bus that took both of them to the hotel; none again when they took the elevator to their rooms’ floor. A smile and an inviting nod was all it took for the other man to accompany him into his.

\-------

And now, in the warm shower, together, the only sounds penetrating the quiet of the night are their combined gasps and moans, and their pleased laughter, ripped from inside, while their mouths roam free through each other’s bodies. So soon he finds his mouth tracing the large expanse of the freckled body in front of him – dots scattered on pale skin like stars on constellations - down and down, like he knows the first thing about pleasuring a man, apart from the memory of his own pleasures, and apparently attaining his goal. He crouches slightly, grabbing onto the backs of the man’s strong, wet thighs for balance, and opens his mouth to engulf a very hard and very large cock, as it suddenly is the best thing he could be doing in the entire world, both their eyes now open to better feel what is happening. He is jarred, for he finds his pleasure must be as immense as the other man’s right now. He feels it in his throat, his hands, which he slides up and down a bit awkwardly, but efficiently, and it is all over too soon, he finds, the sound of the man’s undoing manly and raw, the viscous liquid filling his mouth and his hands, he himself trying to swallow and breathe at the same time, both amazed and thrilled with the act, the water already washing away their magnificent sin. He is pleased for them both, and yet his own body is already begging for more, his slit leaking with the excitement, and his legs still trembling with want. 

He is directed out of the shower by strong hands and a wet tongue on his, and he finds a fluffy towel enveloping him, while careful hands roam through his body, and a large hand covers his twitching cock. They are pressed together, both their skins still warm and damp, the closeness and the care making it even more real. The other man carefully and slowly strokes him with one hand, while catching his lips in his own, the other hand grabbing the small of his back, then pushing his blonde, soft, wet hair our of his face. Their eyes meet, and he believes this will be the end of him. He is slowly and carefully led throught the bathroom door and into the room, towards the big, tall bed. The man turns him around then, just by the side of the bed, but before they can reach it, and, ignoring his demanding dick, massages his chest and his small, taut ass. There is no further intrusion – he’s not sure he wouldn’t allow it, for he wants to taste all that is offered to him, all he can. Then he feels a soft but still very powerful cock against his ass, sliding smoothly against his skin. He closes his eyes, throws his head back and reaches his arm behind him to bring the man closer to his face, by his hair, and kiss him, while trying to discern the heat from his cock and testicles against him. A strong hand grabs his dick then and there, and caresses and strokes him with such intent and purpose, he can only stay still and throw his hands down and feel. And soon he, too, comes, the most powerful and long-lasting orgasm he can ever remember having, the other man supporting him, whispering, caressing. They laugh, embraced, his back pressed against the man. Like a teenager figuring out first things, all so new and encompassing.

And soon after he finds himself tangled in bed with this man, warm in his embrace, smiling. And he can finally rest, contented and fulfilled.

\-------

He knows - he figures - this is a one time thing. In the morning, their thirst quenched, they will resume their lives, their jobs, their travels and their music. No tiptoeing. And they will remain closer than ever. He needed this. Just this and only this. To clear the head. To tame the heat.  
To leave it behind him and find closure. 

\-------

It’s a free night, near home, for both. Just the two of them. Some movies, dinner; then they decide on going out for a walk - the Autumn air inviting – and later drinks, at a club, this unspoken agreement on trying to disperse the undeniable heat always present between them.

But music envelops them, and some secrets are shared in a dark corner of a crowded club, potentiated by heavy liquor and a heavier expectation of something else, unnamable, but unmistakable; feelings lurking, wanting to become alive. They aren’t playing characters, there isn’t a stage now to demand they stay in position and ready for the next scene, and no one to entertain but themselves. And he wishes he could take this further still, confess to the other man his desire to experiment and taste, and learn more, and feel more, behind closed doors. He just can’t seem to find the courage to bring himself to work it into words, to ask for it.

A few warm hugs and warmer, innocent goodbye kisses later, by the door of the hotel room, honest, and guarded from prying eyes (eyes are quick to judge, but could not understand), they part for the night, their goodbyes soft and hopeful. 

He gets in his room, lets his back rest against the closed door, and shuts his eyes. The other man’s own room is a floor up. He hears his footsteps going away, towards the end of the corridor, where there is a glass wall looking upon the big city and its lights and nightlife down below, the stars and the crescent moon above. He turns over and rests his forehead against the wooden door, the tip of his tongue tracing his own lips, going after the minty, sweet taste of the man’s mouth, and his senses already trying to pick the spicy smell of him on himself, the heat he had just moments ago felt pressed against his black leather jacket.

He wants more. Now. He so needs it all. Even if it’s just for tonight. Just for one night. 

He doesn’t want to overthink this. He’s sure thinking too much and for too long could ruin this for him, but he couldn’t even if he wanted to, not now. Pure want takes over. A resolute hand turns the handle of the door, willing to chase after the man he wishes to taste again in his lips. He quickly finds him at the end of the corridor, leaning against the window, almost mirrored in the dark, and looking straight at the direction of his door, a glowing, knowing smile coming up when their eyes meet.

He can’t move. He feels like his legs can’t help him at the moment, so he stays put by the threshold of his room door. He wonders if his eyes can tell what’s on his mind. Wonders if it’s needed, at this point, or if the other man can sense the same, if he feels the same. They share one intense look before he sees the tall, lean body start to narrow the distance between them, with slow, long steps. His white, fitted shirt - a stark contrast against the black pants and dark grey blazer - is now slightly unbuttoned, allowing for pale, freckled skin to show.

They exchange no words when they meet at the door; words aren’t needed anymore. Not now. They are both afraid that if they speak their thoughts and fears into existence, their hearts will break, and something will escape – escape through their lips. So they share another smile, a very shy, bright, and honest smile this time, innocent almost, and before they can realize, the smiles are gone, intent and will taking over, and they find themselves inside the room, the door quickly closed behind them, the world outside forgotten. 

Shared looks become shared touches, cautious at first; then furious, hungry. Mouths demand to meet each other, jackets are discarded, shirts are carelessly thrown to the ground. Arms embrace chests, before the hands of them both go for each other’s belts. He finds the other man’s mouth slowly descending his jawline to his shoulder, and throws his own head back at the thrilling touch, while he caresses the back of his lover’s neck and rushes his hands through the warm, wide chest in front of him.

The echoes of their names on each other’s mouths, spoken into existence, like prayers. 

And here they find themselves, consuming each other once again, tongues exploring and savouring; hands caressing, but fingers almost bruising the skin. They smile and laugh, trying to catch their breaths. They moan and pant together, holding each other in equally strong arms, almost unable to think, making their way for the bed - and they both seem to want more, so much more still. Their bodies and souls are in tune. Ready, finally.

He can’t blame any of it on the drinks – there weren’t enough of them, and they would be quite sober now anyway. He would forever remember this moment as the moment when he finally gave in to the spiral of desire and despair – oh, he remembers it well – and how he wished to bring the other man with him. The room, the sounds of the night outside, the indistinct smell of an unfamiliar place, the feeling of anticipation, and the decision to move himself from spectator to main character. For this, there was no rehearsal. 

No, this isn’t a stage. His blonde hair doesn’t cover his eyes, his pale face; his guitar can’t occupy his hands now, give him something to entertain his nervousness, and he also wouldn’t want to. He wants the other man to see how much he wants this. How much he wants him. Fear and excitement and lust. He longs for it all.

He’s afraid this – whatever this is – will be over too soon. He doesn’t want the night to end. The hunger consuming him makes him move, but his heightened senses somehow allow him to take the time to imprint all of the experience in his mind. He makes the other man understand his intent by stripping him out of all of his remaining clothes, hardly breaking eye contact while doing so. He sees the amused smiled appearing in the man’s lips and wishes to burn this image of innocent wickedness, so characteristic of him, in the back of his mind forever. They have both been hard for quite a while now. The tip of the taller man’s cock is glistening in the low light of the room, the whole of it large and curving upwards towards his stomach, enticing, inviting; he can almost taste him again in his mouth. He touches it only, this time, so briefly, almost reverently. He turns the man around, and, with a care that seems almost unbearable giving his absolutely wrecked state, tries for his hole with both of his hands; his moist heat making him crazy, and his moans arousing him beyond reason, hard as ever still inside his pants. His belt is unbuckled, hanging by the loops of the tight, black denim jeans, and he opens the zipper up. He tries to offer some time for the other man to refuse, protest, for what he is about to do, but he finds no resistance whatsoever. The tall man leans towards the bed and grabs it for balance, looking behind himself, mouth open, not saying a word, as if confirming his consent. So he slides his pants and underwear just down enough, freeing his own large cock, and grabs and squeezes it first for a bit of much needed relief. And then, attentive but without warning, slides it inside the wanton body in front of him, almost all the lenght in. He hears the man’s gasp, and begins to roll his hips. His blonde hair comes to cover his face as his body gains rhythm and intensity, his balls hitting the bottom of the other man’s buttocks – he tucks his lower lip in his teeth at the sights and sounds. 

They come, almost impossibly, together. 

He gathers his breath, then discards the rest of his clothes. He looks at the other man’s face in search of something he can’t exactly name. He finds the familiar gaze already searching for his, and the tall man catches his chin and kisses him lightly. Lovingly. They share a smile and find their place in bed, for another night spent in each other’s arms.

\-------

Is there a woman still waiting for him, somewhere, hoping for his embrace? He can’t even remember the name of none of them right now. He doesn’t want to either. This man’s raven hair cascading against his pale, freckled, sleeping face alone is so much more enticing than the sweetest curves of any woman he ever had.

\-------

He did sign up for all of it, no regrets. The stageplay. Fan service. Hot press. Sex sells. Hot and young and able, he sells, they sell; they sell it well. He did not sign up for the feelings. For everything that pales in comparison. For the pretty, sweet, caring girls, that will never be him. The other man. His man. He did not sign up for a broken heart. For a knot in his throat when he wishes to call his name, beg him to share his bed, to stay again for the whole night. He ruined him. This man ruined him for everything else, everyone else. And he loves him in spite of it all. Because of it all.

\-------

There were no promises made. Ever. And, as it happens, time and distance, both physical and spiritual, dilute feelings. Life moves on and they are carried with it. Because of it. 

That’s what pains him now, the indifference he believes he feels from the only man he loved. The indifference he wishes he feels also for him. But he doesn’t. Not at all.

Long, delightful nights, are now replaced with only the sweetest memories. A night eternal in his heart. All of those nights. He will cherish them forever, and forever store them in a place inside himself. A book - even the heaviest of books, a book never meant to be opened again - still carries inside all of its chapters, all of its story.

And sometimes he wishes they could still play with fire.

Just to make sure it still burns both of them in equal measure. 

Because some are born to sweet delight. 

Some are born to endless night.

And some, like him, wish for both to last forever.


End file.
